


like there's no tomorrow

by ShowMeAHero



Category: IT (1990), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, During Canon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Existential Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Fluff, Hair-pulling, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, The Derry Townhouse (IT)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:41:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26072044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: All this to say, of course, that there’s something about Eddie now, just like there’d been something about him back then. Richie’s always been drawn to Eddie like a moth to a flame, and now’s no different.Well,Richie thinks, watching Eddie from opposite ends of the sofa in the Townhouse.Now’s alittledifferent.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 31
Kudos: 221
Collections: it (1990) one-shots





	like there's no tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> looks like things are getting too spicy for the pepper

From the second Eddie steps into the line of Richie’s vision, he’s a goner all over again.

The last time he’d seen Eddie, they’d both been eighteen years old, the freshest graduates from Derry High, ready to leave the entire state of Maine behind if that’s what it took. Richie doesn’t actually know how far Eddie ever made it. He knows he made it all the way to Chicago on the first leg, and to Los Angeles on the second. After that, he’d never left.

He’d hoped the same for Eddie but, to hear Eddie tell it, he didn’t get very far before his mother reeled him back in. Richie’d always hated Sonia Kaspbrak; finding all that out really just drove the point home.

All this to say, of course, that there’s something about Eddie now, just like there’d been something about him back then. Richie’s always been drawn to Eddie like a moth to a flame, and now’s no different.

_ Well,  _ Richie thinks, watching Eddie from opposite ends of the sofa in the Townhouse.  _ Now’s a  _ little  _ different. _

For one, they’ve both aged about twenty years since the last time they saw each other. The years have not been so kind to Richie, he thinks, as they have been to the rest of his friends, who all appear to be attractive and well-adjusted and successful individuals. He’s successful enough, sure, but he’s lonely as hell and he feels like a real monster compared to Eddie.

For all the years have beat Richie to hell, they look like they’ve been so kind to Eds. Maybe he hasn’t been happy — and Richie hopes maybe he can help with that — but, regardless, he looks—

Richie can’t even begin to describe how Eddie looks to him. He hadn’t realized he’d had a type, let alone that that type had been based off the original blueprint sitting not two yards from him, but he sure as hell’s got one. Every guy he’s ever been interested in, every person he’s ever tried to seduce into bed, all of them, he thinks,  _ all of them.  _ They have  _ all  _ looked like Eddie, each and every last one.

And now,  _ now,  _ Richie’s got the real deal right in front of him, and he can’t bring himself to make a move.

Eddie somehow seems even more untouchable than he had when they were boys. Now that they’re grown, Richie feels like all he’d do is smear the bad in him all over Eddie. It doesn’t help that Eddie  _ looks  _ so pristine now, now that he’s all waves of blonde hair and pale ironed-straight clothes. Richie feels like he’d just be tearing Eddie apart, to get his hands on him. As bad as he may want to. It doesn’t feel right; he knows he doesn’t get to.

“Richie?” Bill’s voice asks. Richie snaps back to himself, feeling like his spirit’s slamming back into his body as he does so.

“Yeah, Billy-boy, I’m sorry, I was—” Richie whistles, waving a hand above his head. Bill huffs a laugh, rubbing at his face.

“You know,” Bill says, “I’m really tired, too. We should probably get some rest.”

“Ah—” Richie starts to argue, just immediately, because he doesn’t want to be alone. He cuts himself off and chokes it back, though, and instead agrees, “I— I couldn’t agree more. We need our beauty sleep if we’re really gonna show old Pennywise what-for.”

“Oh, don’t say It’s  _ name,”  _ Eddie admonishes him. It looks like a shiver slides down his spine as he says it. Richie itches to tug him into his arms, to rub his skin and warm him up, to dig his hands into his hair and  _ just— _

“Righto, I’m heading to bed,” Richie says. He shoves himself up from the sofa, dramatic so it can be a joke.

He’s not expecting anyone to stop him or catch up with him. In spite of that, Eddie still says, “Richie, wait up.”

Richie’s surprised enough that he just stops in the doorway, waiting until Eddie’s left Bev and Mike behind on the sofa to join him by the hall. He’s not entirely sure what to say, so he just motions for Eddie to join him before he tramps up the stairs to their rooms.

“Already tired?” Richie asks, fishing his room key from his pocket.

“I don’t know,” Eddie says. Richie turns to glance at him, one eyebrow lifted. “I suppose I am a bit tired. It’s been a long day.”

“You can say that again,” Richie agrees. He manages to get the door open and pushed in before he thinks to offer, “Wanna come in? Unless you’re heading right to bed, in which case, don’t let me stop you—”

“Richie,” Eddie cuts him off. Richie’s not sure what possessed him to make such an insane offer, but it’s already there between them. All he can do is wait. He’s rewarded with Eddie exhaling slowly, glancing down at his feet. Richie does the same; Eddie’s only in his sock feet, his reflection-shined shoes held loosely in one hand. It makes Richie feel impossibly  _ something,  _ something too strong that tugs in the pit of his stomach, looking at Eddie.

“Look, I shouldn’t have—”

“I’d love to,” Eddie says, leaning in and tipping his chin, just a bit, to force Richie into meeting his eyes. One thing that’s never changed is Eddie’s eyes: huge and brown and so expressive, Richie can and would willingly die lost in them.

“Come in,” Richie says. He kicks the door the rest of the way open with his heel. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”

Eddie  _ tsks  _ at him with a smile on his face that makes Richie’s heart trip. It’s only once Eddie’s nearly crossed the room, almost at the window, that Richie manages to get himself to move. He shuts the door behind himself; after a beat of hesitation, he locks it, slower than he would normally, like he wants to hide the sound. Like it’s a shameful sound that he doesn’t want Eddie to hear, and that makes him think,  _ I shouldn’t do this. _

“I don’t really want to be alone,” Eddie says. Richie’s head snaps up, but Eddie’s looking out the window, still. “I thought— Well, I— I thought maybe you wouldn’t want to, either.”

Richie’s shocked, for a moment. After a beat, though, he confesses, “You’d be right about that.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks. He turns, then, looking at Richie over his shoulder, and Richie’s heart beats faster and faster, the longer they look at each other.

“Yeah,” Richie echoes. “Which is kinda crazy, to be honest with you, because I live alone back in Hollywood, y’know. I’m pretty used to sleeping alone.”

“Me, too,” Eddie says. He moves, then, to hover near the edge of Richie’s bed. His fingers drift down towards the bedspread before he snatches them back, curling them up into his palm. Richie wants to just spread them right back out again.

“You’re not interested in anyone?” Richie asks. “No special lady’s caught your eye?”

Eddie laughs, tapping his nails on the surface of the nightstand, instead. He raps his knuckles against the wood. “No,” he says. “No special lady.”

“Just Sonia,” Richie comments. Eddie glares at him through the cleanest glasses lenses Richie thinks he’s ever seen. It’s not fair to compare them to his own, clunky and fingerprint-smudged as they are, stowed away in his carry-on bag, but everything about Eddie just seems  _ so  _ neat,  _ so  _ clean. It’s as intoxicating as it is terrifying.

“Don’t say that,” Eddie scolds him. “For the love of— I don’t want to talk about my  _ mother—” _

“Look, gee— Hey, Eds, I’m sorry,” Richie apologizes. Eddie pushes his glasses up from the tip of his nose. He uses the motion as a chance to rub at his eyes, for a moment, before he looks to Richie again. “I’m sorry, I know. I know, I shouldn’t say things like that. I’ve only got a couple days left to make a good impression on you.”

“We’ve known each other since we were babies,” Eddie reminds him.

“I mean a  _ lasting _ impression,” Richie amends. “Considering the whole— Well. Y’know, Eds, don’t make me say it.”

Eddie’s brow furrows, his whole face crinkling up with frustration. He takes in a breath, then stops, doesn’t speak. It makes the room feel twice as charged until he finally  _ does  _ speak. “No, say it.”

“What?” Richie asks.

“Say it,” Eddie repeats. They lock eyes, and Richie’s hands start shaking, cold and numb. “Say it, Richie.”

“I don’t—” Richie starts to say, but the look on Eddie’s face makes him stop. Instead, he finishes with, “I don’t think we’re all gonna make it out of this.”

Eddie nods, his shoulders slumping. It’s like his whole body deflates as he sighs, tapping the edge of his thumbnail on the base of the lamp on the nightstand. He scratches at it, then says, “I’m really scared, Richie,” his voice breaking.

“Oh, hey, Eds, don’t cry,” Richie says. His heart trips in his chest the same way he trips over his own feet, in his rush to get to Eddie, but Eddie just pushes away from him, his hands brushing Richie’s chest as he tries to keep them apart.

“Don’t coddle me,” Eddie snaps at him. Richie drops his hands; they’re still numb, and itching to touch Eddie again, so he forces them into his pockets instead. “I know we’re going to die, I  _ know  _ we are. But I— I don’t  _ want  _ to. I’m scared of dying, and— I’m scared of dying like  _ this.” _

“Like what?” Richie asks. They’re only inches apart, but they feel like miles, until Eddie lifts his head to lock eyes with Richie again.

“Like  _ this,”  _ Eddie repeats. A tear overflows from one eye and spills down his cheek; Richie’s hand twitches in his pocket with the urge to wipe it away. The back of his nose prickles, his eyes  _ burn,  _ but he doesn’t want to cry, too. He tries not to cry in front of other people, not  _ ever.  _ He doesn’t want to start  _ now,  _ because of that stupid,  _ stupid _ fucking  _ clown. _

“Eds, you’re pretty much the greatest guy I’ve ever known,” Richie tells him, as honest as he knows how to be. “No word of a lie.”

Eddie scoffs, rolling his eyes when he looks away from Richie. “You don’t even  _ know me,  _ Richie. I’m— I’m nothing! I’m  _ nobody,  _ and I’ve always,  _ always  _ been nobody. I couldn’t even leave my  _ mother,  _ Richie! We made a promise, we— We had a  _ pact,  _ that we were going to leave Derry and all that came with it and we’d never look back, and the second we were apart? I  _ went back.” _

“So what?” Richie asks.

“So  _ what?”  _ Eddie echoes, incredulous.

“Yeah,” Richie says. “So  _ what,  _ Eddie? What, you think I’m happy out by myself on the other side of the country? You think I’ve got everything I ever wanted, going home by myself every night and wondering why the hell I’m so lonely when I know I’ve never had anyone there in the first place, right? Because I  _ don’t.” _

“I didn’t  _ say that,”  _ Eddie says sharply, but his pink face is more concerned than angry, now. “You haven’t  _ always  _ been alone, either.”

“No,” Richie agrees. He exhales, scrubbing at his face roughly with his palms. “No, I guess I haven’t.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Richie hates silences, now more than ever.

“This isn’t about me,” Richie continues. “I made it all about me when— Really, Eds, what I  _ should’ve  _ said is that you’re not nothing. You’re  _ not  _ nothing, and you’re absolutely  _ not  _ nobody, pal, I can tell you that  _ right now.” _

“But you don’t  _ know me,  _ Richie,” Eddie repeats, desperate.

“I know enough,” Richie says.

“I’m forty and I live with my  _ mother,”  _ Eddie tells him.

“Plenty of folks live with their mothers,” Richie says.

“I don’t have a steady girlfriend,” Eddie counters.

“Neither do I,” Richie says.

“I don’t want one,” Eddie ventures. Richie hesitates, the two of them a step closer, somehow. Eddie seems proud, almost, like he thinks he’s won. Richie’s inner thirteen-year-old rears his head again.

“Yeah, well, neither do I,” Richie says again. Eddie’s head snaps up, and they measure each other. Quiet, just— studying, for a moment. Richie’s hands shake as he’s pulling them out of his pockets, letting them tremble at his sides instead.

“I’ve never been with anyone,” Eddie admits, his voice low. In his chest, Richie’s heart flips over, a solid  _ thunk  _ against his ribcage.

“Not ever?” Richie asks. Eddie shakes his head; it dislodges a handful of curls into his eyes. This time, Richie does reach up to touch him. Eddie just stares at him like a deer in headlights, all big brown eyes and blonde waves of hair that Richie brushes back from his forehead slowly.

“No,” Eddie whispers. “Not ever.”

“Why not?” Richie asks, unable to stop himself. He tracks his hand down to cup Eddie’s jaw; when he’s not brushed away, his skin all breaks out in goosebumps.

“I loved you all too much,” Eddie confesses. “I missed you more than anything. I couldn’t be with anyone else, knowing I loved someone like I loved you and that I wasn’t with them.”

Richie exhales shakily. The shift from  _ you all  _ to  _ you  _ doesn’t go unnoticed by him, and it just makes his heart race all the more. “What do you mean?”

Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he tells him. “I don’t know what I mean. I’ve never really known, I’ve just been… waiting. And I thought— I thought, you know, that I was insane, because who does that? What sort of a man doesn’t— doesn’t go out with an attractive woman when he gets an opportunity?”

“You don’t have to be any specific sort of man,” Richie says. He tightens his grip a bit on Eddie’s cheek, just to make sure he really feels him there, and tells him, “I’ve passed up plenty of dates just to laze around in my apartment feeling sorry for myself.”

“Have you?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah.”

“Why?” Eddie asks. “Do you know?” Richie shakes his head. Eddie exhales, another tear slipping down. Richie actually does wipe it away this time, stroking his thumb underneath the curve of Eddie’s eye, catching the tear until it tracks into his own palm. “I’ve never known. All I could tell is that I was waiting for something.”

He stops there, but Richie wants to push him to say more. Just a  _ little  _ more. He’s terrified to do it himself, petrified, even if he  _ is  _ going to die tomorrow.

“Eds, I—”

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie cuts him off. He shifts closer into Richie’s space; it’s just one step, but then he’s impossibly close, tilting his head back so they can keep eye contact. They’re sharing breath, they’re so close. That same shiver Eddie’s had run down his spine earlier comes back, except Richie can feel it this time, not just see it. The tremors that shake under Richie’s hands are from more than the cold and the fear, though.

“It’s been a long few years, Eddie,” Richie says. “I’m not me anymore, either.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Eddie tells him. He doesn’t have to raise his voice much higher to be heard, this close together. “You’re always you. You’ve always  _ been  _ you.”

“It doesn’t feel like it now,” Richie says. “Feels more like I’m just waking up.”

“I know what you mean,” Eddie says. He doesn’t say it in the way that people usually mean, that he feels bad and he wants Richie to know somebody’s there for him. He says it like he really,  _ really  _ means it. Richie knows he really,  _ really  _ does. There’s only a handful of people on the planet who could possibly understand how he’s feeling right now, and one of them is under his hand right now, looking up at him like they’re starting something instead of ending it.

“What’re we gonna do, Eds?” Richie asks.

Rather than admonish him for using the nickname again, Eddie reaches up and fists his hand in Richie’s sweater. His eyes track over Richie’s face, skimming down to his lips before shooting back up to meet Richie’s eyes again.

“Do you mean right now?” Eddie asks. “Or in the next few days?”

“I meant in the next few days,” Richie admits, “but, actually, now that you mention it— Well, now I mean  _ now,  _ I think.”

“I think,” Eddie echoes, “I’ll get up tomorrow and— and get myself some sort of weapon. I don’t know what, but something good, something— sharp, and— and sturdy. And you’ll all do the same, you’ll come with me. And— And then, we’ll go right down to the  _ goddamn  _ sewer that  _ thing  _ lives in, and we’re going to— to kill it. Richie, we’re going to kill it, and we’re all going to go home, do you hear me? Do you?”

Richie nods, breathless, caught up in the rush of Eddie’s words as they come pouring out of his mouth. It’s hard  _ not  _ to say, “Yeah, Eds. Loud and clear,” before Eddie’s surging up to kiss him, full on the mouth, like they did this every day.

Every part of Richie’s body lights up, reaching for Eddie like he’s being pulled towards him. This has been their lifetimes in the making. He doesn’t even know where to touch Eddie first.

Eddie twitches up closer to him, smoothing his hands up from Richie’s chest to his shoulders before throwing his arms around his neck. Richie grips Eddie at the hips, then the waist, slips his hands up and up, further and further up Eddie’s back until he’s threading his fingers through his hair.

He’d shoved Eddie around a couple of times earlier today, just to get his hands on him and feel that he’s for real. He’d even dug his hand into Eddie’s hair once or twice. Of course he’d noticed it’s nice, he  _ always  _ had, but now—

He tightens his grip in the soft, thick waves of Eddie’s hair. His reward, apart from the jolt of heat it sends through his own body to his cock, is Eddie letting his head fall back as he moans, breathy and high in the back of his throat, torn from his chest. Richie yanks on his hair again, harder this time, until Eddie’s neck is exposed and he can kiss the column of his throat.

_ “Richie,”  _ Eddie breathes. “Richie, Richie—”

“I gotcha,” Richie breathes along his throat. He kisses Eddie’s hot skin until he needs more and has to bite, just a little. Just has to dig his teeth in and relish in the grounding knowledge of Eddie’s pulse under his tongue; he knows Eddie’s alive and present that way the same way he knows he can feel his blood rushing under his skin, his hands twitching up to cling to Richie’s shoulders.

Eddie drags his hands around to hook his fingers in the slouching collar of Richie’s sweater and tug on it. He shakes when Richie starts to unbutton his shirt where it’s buttoned up to the highest spot on his collar, but he doesn’t stop him. Instead, he pushes closer, hips twitching like he’s trying to restrain himself. Richie doesn’t  _ want  _ him to restrain himself. He gives up on Eddie’s shirt as taking too much time and reaches for his belt instead, swiftly unbuckling and loosening the leather from the loops.

“Richie,” Eddie says again. He grabs Richie’s sweater by the hem, then yanks on it, pulling it up and over his head. He’s left in his undershirt, and Eddie pauses, looking him over. For a moment, he just exhales.

“Disappointed?” Richie chances to ask.

_ “Hell  _ no,” Eddie says. He takes Richie firmly by the shoulders and pushes him back and down until Richie’s sitting hard on the edge of the squeaky Townhouse bed. In the next moment, he’s climbing into Richie’s lap, a knee on either side of his thighs.

“Eds,” Richie chokes out. Eddie cups Richie’s face in his hands and kisses him hard, still hovering above his lap, just a few inches. Richie’s closer now, so he pulls Eddie’s belt free and unfastens his pants to tug them open, hands tangled up between their bodies, they’re so close. In the next beat of his heart, Eddie lets his weight fall into Richie’s lap completely. He can’t _ help _ the moan that slips out of him when Eddie’s sliding hard over his cock; he’s just a man.

Eddie twists Richie’s undershirt up and off next, pulling up and then settling back down. He finds an easy rhythm, starting to grind down into Richie’s lap through their pants, clinging to Richie’s bare shoulders.

“You sure you’ve never done this before?” Richie asks. Eddie shoots him a look, mostly amused, all brown eyes and flushed cheeks. “I’m just saying, you’re pretty good for a beginner.”

“It just feels so  _ good,”  _ Eddie tells him. “I just— I just want to—”

Whatever Eddie  _ just wants to,  _ Richie doesn’t find out— or, he does, because that’s where Eddie surges in so close they’re lined up from their laps to their chests. He shoves his hands through Richie’s hair and holds on tight, pulling him in for the hardest kiss Richie thinks he’s ever gotten in his  _ life.  _ His mouth falls open of its own accord, and Eddie takes advantage to lick inside, behind his teeth, rolling his hips up and into Richie over and  _ over  _ again.

“Lay back,” Eddie insists. “Lay back, lay down.”

“Okay, yeah, yeah, sure,” Richie agrees, eager, falling back onto his elbows and scooting until he’s against the pillows. Eddie sits up on his knees in bed, tugging his own sweater up and off. He makes quick work of the rest of his buttons next, slender fingers deftly unbuttoning the ones Richie’s missed on his fumbling first pass.

He shoves his suspenders off fast, all but falling out of his shirt and his pants in his haste to get them off. It’s not until he’s in his sock feet , his garters and his underwear, tight white undershirt just barely letting Richie see the soft blonde hair of his chest — it’s not until  _ then  _ that Richie chokes out, “I’ve missed you more than anything, Eddie. More than I’ve ever missed anyone.”

Eddie tugs his undershirt up and over his head. It joins the rest of his clothes on the ground before he’s sliding up alongside Richie, tucking himself under his arm. The two of them just lay there, for a moment, tangled close together on the bed, both on their sides. It’s a beat later that Eddie pushes his forehead until it’s pressed to Richie’s.

“Hi,” Richie says.

“Hi, there,” Eddie replies. He pushes in for another kiss; Richie happily obliges.

His hands twitch again, so he lets the one under Eddie’s shoulder creep up until he can bend it enough to tangle it up in Eddie’s hair. His other hand’s much easier to maneuver up. He holds Eddie’s waist, for a moment, gliding along the elastic of his underwear before meeting his other hand in Eddie’s hair.

He digs his fingers into his hair, relishes in how soft and thick it is. The tighter his grip gets, the more tense Eddie gets, until he breathes,  _ “Christ,  _ Richie.”

Richie lets go all at once, apologizing with a quick, “Shit, sorry, is that t—”

_ “No,”  _ Eddie insists. He claws closer to Richie, rolling his hips on instinct until they slam into Richie’s and they both groan. Eddie clings tighter to him, arms like a vice around his head, his neck, his shoulders. “No, it’s  _ good,  _ Richie, do that— Do that again, I liked that.”

“This?” Richie asks, playfully, heart pounding. He gets his hands back in Eddie’s hair and  _ yanks,  _ and Eddie  _ keens,  _ a whine torn from somewhere deep in his chest. Eddie tears at him, yanking the last of his clothes off. He spreads his hands across Richie’s soft, bare chest, stroking across the freckles and red hair he finds. Richie feels every point of contact like an electric shock, static bursts everywhere they’re touching, lightning from Eddie’s hands.

“Richie,  _ Richie,  _ please, just—” Eddie starts to say. Richie cuts him off just by kissing him, sealing them together and licking along Eddie’s tongue. The sharp point of his glasses digs into Richie’s cheek at its edge, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s on a one-track mind,  _ obsessed,  _ desperate and hungry to taste and touch  _ everywhere. _

Eddie reaches up to push his glasses back from his face, and they get impossibly closer. They separate, just for a beat, before Eddie gently strokes his nose along the side of Richie’s, nuzzling in close. He nuzzles into his cheek next before kissing along the stubble there back to his mouth.

Richie pulls on his hair, just to experiment again, and Eddie bites his lip. One of his legs slips between Richie’s, the other sliding underneath them, tangling them even tighter, even closer together. Richie feels like he’s been swallowed up by Eddie; he’s overjoyed.

Eddie’s far passed words when Richie yanks on him again, tugging on his hair until Eddie’s breath is coming in short, sharp gasps.

“Do you need your inhaler?” Richie asks. Eddie starts to pull away before he whimpers and tucks back in.

“No,” he tells him. He pushes impossibly closer, until Richie can feel the hard line of his cock through his underwear against his thigh. Eddie shifts his hips, just minutely, until their cocks are lined up. Then, he does it again; he rolls his hips, and his handsome red face doesn’t struggle for air in a frightened sort of way, more in a desperate sort of way, one that Richie’s all too familiar with.

Richie starts to say, “Eddie, Eds, I think I—”

“Me, too,” Eddie tells him. Richie wasn’t even sure how his own sentence was going to end, if it would finish with  _ I think I love you  _ or  _ I think I’m close  _ or  _ I think I’m gonna die tomorrow,  _ he doesn’t know. Whatever it is, though, he knows Eddie means his  _ me, too.  _ He knows he believes it, too.

Richie hooks his fingers in the waistband of Eddie’s underwear and yanks them down. It takes some contortion to free them from the last of their clothes, unsnapping the straps of Eddie’s sock garters and pulling down Richie’s underwear, but they manage it together almost easily.

Eddie pushes Richie onto his back, straddling his hips, eyes and hands skimming down Richie’s face, his throat, to his collarbones. He leans in and down, until their chests are pressed together, and kisses him hard. Their cocks line up, and Richie’s breath catches.

“Oh, Richie,” Eddie gasps. He threads their hands together and pushes Richie’s hand back into the mattress, tight against the bedspread he hadn’t even let himself touch before. Richie reaches up and pulls Eddie down by his hair, guiding him into another kiss.

“C’mon, Eds,” Richie says, hopelessly close to the edge. He blames it on Eddie, on being with  _ Eddie,  _ on being with the first person he’s been with in  _ months  _ and having it be  _ Eddie Kaspbrak,  _ the love of his first eighteen years. He’s hoping he’ll be the love of his last— Well, however long it ends up being, but that’s nothing to think about right now. Not while he’s got Eddie here with him like this, alive, heart pounding, blood  _ racing,  _ just like Richie’s.

Eddie wraps his free hand around their cocks together, guiding them into the grip of his slender hand. Richie can feel tough steering-wheel calluses and soft palms and neatly trimmed nails. He never wants to feel anything else, he thinks.

Bolts of lust and heat and just pure  _ fire  _ shoot through Richie from his chest to his cock. Every thought in his head is of Eddie, wordless and physical, mostly just  _ love, love, love,  _ pulsing through him. Eddie kisses him hard as he pumps their cocks together, whining into Richie’s mouth when Richie tugs on his hair. He keeps his grip tight and sharp, tangles his fingers up in Eddie’s hair until they feel inextricable.

They feel like that all over, actually. Their tangled ankles, their knocking knees, surging hips and grabbing hands and clawing nails, heaving chests and pulses racing in their throats and faces flushed pink to red with exertion and emotion.

Richie thinks a lot about what he  _ should  _ be doing during sex, except  _ now.  _ Except  _ now,  _ when he doesn’t care about anything except making Eddie feel good and about how good Eddie’s making  _ him  _ feel, how fucking damn  _ good  _ this all is.

“Eds, Eddie,” Richie says urgently. Eddie keeps kissing him, though he moves to the corner of his mouth to let him speak a little more clearly. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. You hear me?”

“I hear you,” Eddie gasps. “I hear you, Richie. I just—” Eddie’s cut off with a gasp when Richie tugs on his hair again, pulling him in for another kiss. Eddie forcibly separates them to say, “I just want to focus on this right now, I just want to be here with you. I want to be with you.”

“Eddie,” Richie says. He tugs him in for another kiss. Eddie seems like he almost says something else, maybe almost asks something, but then his breath catches in the center of his chest instead.

_ “Rich—”  _ Eddie starts, then cries out, wordless as he seals their lips together again and keeps up his steady pace on their cocks together, fucking into the tight circle of his perfect hand over and over until Eddie’s gasping his name on repeat, and nothing else. It’s not too long that that becomes gasping, and then Eddie’s groaning so deep and low in his chest that Richie feels it vibrate in his own.

Eddie’s hand stops, for a long moment, where he just pants into Richie’s open mouth, riding through the pulses of his orgasm until he starts breathing semi-evenly again. Richie’s patient, he waits, but he can only wait so long before he tugs a little bit on Eddie’s hair again. Eddie whines, shifting into Richie’s hand, moving with him.

Richie’s about to say he can stop if he wants and Richie can take care of himself, but Eddie’s grip tightens around them again and keeps moving. The sensation’s like the best thing he’s ever felt, hot and tight as Eddie brings him to the edge and shoves him over it. He kisses Richie so hard Richie hopes he’ll bruise from it when his climax finally hits him.

Richie tips his head back and slams his eyes shut and just  _ feels,  _ for a while. Just basks in it. He can still feel Eddie all around him, pulling him in close to kiss along his throat before he collapses on top of him, chest heaving.

It’s a while longer before Richie regains basic motor control. Once he does, though, he reaches up to stroke Eddie’s hair, softer this time, before gliding his fingertips down the back of his neck and the knobs of his spine. Eddie shivers again, all good this time, twisting closer into Richie. His arm sneaks up to wrap around him, holding him close; he kisses Richie on the cheek, then turns his head for him to kiss him properly.

Richie wants to ask if Eddie thinks they’ll still be alive in a week and, if so, if maybe he’d entertain the idea of Richie moving back East again for a while. He remembers Eddie’s earlier request to live in the moment, though, so instead he asks, “Wanna stay in here with me tonight? There’s plenty of room.”

“Mm,” Eddie hums. “Do you think the others will notice?”

“Well—”

“Actually,” Eddie says, shifting up a bit, voice raising. “I don’t care if they do notice. For all I care, they can— The whole  _ world  _ can know, I don’t—”

“Eddie,” Richie cuts him off with a laugh. Someone pounds on the wall behind the headboard, and the both of them freeze, going tense almost instantly.

“The whole world  _ does  _ know,” Beverly calls to them. Richie collapses back into the pillows, burying his face in Eddie’s hair to hide the unsightly red flush he’s more than sure is there. “Go to sleep now, please!”

“Oh, my goodness,” Eddie breathes, burying his face in Richie’s shoulder. He lifts his head after a beat to look to Richie, panicked.

“You  _ said  _ you didn’t care,” Richie points out. Eddie smacks his chest lightly, then his upper arm. He hesitates, then leans in to kiss Richie again.

“I still need my things from my room,” Eddie says. He doesn’t move, but he  _ does  _ give Richie a look.

“You want me to— I’ll go get ‘em,” Richie offers. Eddie smiles and pulls him in for another kiss, then another, letting them settle back down again.

“In a minute,” he says. “Just— In a minute.”

“Alright,” Richie agrees. Eddie strokes his hand down Richie’s face, down the column of his throat, down his chest, over and over. He hums, almost to himself, then twists up to kiss Richie on the cheek. He doesn’t say anything, but Richie doesn’t think he needs to, anyways. He’s hoping they’ll have time enough for that tomorrow, like Eddie said.

**Author's Note:**

> You can (and should!) come chat with me on Twitter at [@nicole__mello](https://twitter.com/nicole__mello) (new @!) and/or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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